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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772209">Loss of Hearing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PericulaLudus/pseuds/PericulaLudus'>PericulaLudus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2018 [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Musketeers (2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Major Character Injury, Sieges, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:40:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PericulaLudus/pseuds/PericulaLudus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2018 [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1078923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Loss of Hearing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Fall back!“</p>
<p>There were some advantages to being raised to believe your word was command. The men took Athos’ bellowed words for an order and stopped in their tracks. Not long, but long enough for them to elbow their way to the front of this rabble.</p>
<p>“Fall back,” Athos shouted again. The first few rows of men stood still, but from the back more and more were pressing forward. Men who couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see. A flood he couldn’t stem.</p>
<p>Athos took a deep breath. “You have no right to be here. There has been no order to attack tonight. For the last time, fall back!”</p>
<p>He waved his pistol at them. He wouldn’t shoot anyone for disobeying his words. These men were not musketeers. He had no authority over them. True, there had been no order to attack, but there had, deliberately, not been an order to stay out of the town either. He couldn’t shoot anyone for following the deceptive invitation of the city gates being thrown open.</p>
<p>But the men didn’t know that.</p>
<p>He jabbed the muzzle of his gun into the chest of a particularly forward soldier and snarled.</p>
<p>The atmosphere was too charged for even a warning shot in the air. The men at the back would take it as a sign that they were being attacked and redouble their efforts.</p>
<p>How many were there? Hard to estimate. They were flooding through a gate and crowding onto a narrow road. 20,000 in the siege army, but in this attack? Hundreds, a thousand at most. And by Athos’ side stood only two others, trying to hold them back.</p>
<p>Still. They had faced worse odds.</p>
<p>The gun seemed to do the trick. Many of these men carried no firearms. More fool them for running into one of the last Huguenot strongholds at night. The town of Privas was on its knees, its surrender imminent. There was no need for such imprudence.</p>
<p>Athos motioned men backwards with his pistol while Porthos physically forced them back. It was working. Slowly, the mob retreated.</p>
<p>One step, two.</p>
<p>Aramis waved his arms at them like he was herding cattle.</p>
<p>Go back. There was no reason to be in Privas that night. The town had fallen. They’d take control in the morning. When there was light and not a pale quarter moon that left most of the town and its defenders in shadow.</p>
<p>Athos’ stomach clenched. Why would the Huguenots throw open the gates? Why now? The women and children had escaped into the mountains, safe in the knowledge that nobody would search the steep, wooded slopes for them. But the men were still here. Why let their enemies enter?</p>
<p>It had to be a trap and Athos did not want to see anyone caught in it.</p>
<p>“Let’s end this,” somebody shouted from the back. “Death to the Huguenots!”</p>
<p>Others took up the shout. <em>Death to all Huguenots! Death! Death!</em></p>
<p>They pushed forwards.</p>
<p>Athos pushed back.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t. Your bloodlust risks your lives. </em>
</p>
<p>Nobody heard.</p>
<p>They had obviously never heard of the siege of Troy and the Trojan horse.</p>
<p>In war, when something seems too good to be true…</p>
<p>On his right, a few men ran out onto the vast cobbled square.</p>
<p>“Aramis!” Athos jerked his head towards the escapees, then pushed back against the crowd that sought to follow them while Aramis ran after the men.</p>
<p>He could hear Aramis’ shouts and Porthos’. They mingled with his own.</p>
<p>But what were three men against hundreds?</p>
<p>Their shouts drowned. Three musketeers against however many men.</p>
<p>More and more followed. Athos tried to stand his ground, had to for all of their sake, but step by step he was forced back. Out into the open, the market square, away from the protection of the narrow street. Straight into whatever trap was being laid for them.</p>
<p>They stood no chance.</p>
<p>“Step aside,” Athos shouted to his friends. He would not see them trampled by this mob.</p>
<p>He stepped into a doorway. A moment to regroup, rethink, establish their new strategy. He forced down the black dread rising from his stomach. Porthos joined him, breathing hard. He clapped Athos on the shoulder.</p>
<p>“Alright?”</p>
<p>Athos nodded.</p>
<p>Where was Aramis?</p>
<p>Half-way across the square by now, pushed back by the unabating tide of men, still trying to do what Athos had told him to. Porthos waved at him, but Aramis didn’t see.</p>
<p>Then torches appeared atop a wall on the far side of the square.</p>
<p>It was impossible to see anything but the flames in this light, but when the flames leapt down it became clear that they were being carried by men.</p>
<p>“Fall back,” Athos shouted at the top of his lungs. “Fall back, it’s a trap.”</p>
<p>Nobody heard him. They were rushing forward, rushing toward their doom.</p>
<p>Royal soldiers met flame carriers.</p>
<p>Lightning struck.</p>
<p>The whole square lit up painfully bright. The sharp outlines of men and houses were etched into Athos’ eyes. Porthos pressed him down into a crouch, shielding him with his body.  </p>
<p>The sound followed, the crack of an infernal whip, a dozen cannons all fired at once. The torches. Gunpowder? Grenades? Something had been lit.</p>
<p>Dust clogged his mouth and Athos coughed. He spat, then shook his head to shift the ringing in his ears.</p>
<p>“Porthos?”</p>
<p>“All good.” Porthos nodded as they stood and turned to face the square.</p>
<p>For a moment, everyone seemed frozen in time. Men stood stunned or lay prone on the cobbles.</p>
<p>Then the shouting started.</p>
<p>The injured screamed in pain and some struggled to their feet. Men rushed forward as others rushed back. To safety or straight at their attackers.</p>
<p>There was no calling them back now.</p>
<p>Small fires burned across the square, casting the scene in an eerie, flickering light. Men were fighting everywhere.</p>
<p>Where was Aramis?</p>
<p>They rushed forward, dodging men and swords. Men had been mowed down like so many bushels of wheat. More and more men as they got closer to the centre of the explosion. Limbs had been torn from bodies and skulls caved in. These men wouldn’t rise.</p>
<p>Hell.</p>
<p>And in the middle—</p>
<p>“Aramis!”</p>
<p>Porthos knelt next to him, lifted him up.</p>
<p>Aramis coughed. Breathed. He was covered in dust and there was blood on his face, but he was alive.</p>
<p>“Where are you hurt?”</p>
<p>Aramis stared up at him, conscious, but not responding.</p>
<p>“Can you walk?”</p>
<p>Porthos tried to lift him to his feet, but Aramis jerked as if he’d been hurt. No visible injuries, but who knew. A concussion? He had been knocked to the ground. It would be reasonable.</p>
<p>“Are you in pain?”</p>
<p>Again, no reply. He always told them how difficult head injuries were.</p>
<p>Suddenly Aramis’ eyes widened and he pointed over Athos’ shoulder.</p>
<p>Athos spun around, sword in hand, ready to attack, but there was nobody behind him. Then he saw it, saw him. Another Huguenot with a torch, more difficult to make out now as multiple fires burned and the crowds milled back and forth like a living thing. The man fought his way through the men, sword in his right and torch in his left. He was good with the sword. Scarily so. And determined to reach his destination. Another hidden stash of gunpowder? Almost certainly.</p>
<p>“Go,” Porthos shouted. “I’ve got him.”</p>
<p>One last look back at Aramis. He’d be fine. Had to be. But he wouldn’t be if Athos didn’t kill that man before he caused a second explosion. He tore himself away, sword held high. For all their good intentions, all the killing they had tried to avoid… There was no question here. One man could cause countless deaths, could kill Porthos and Aramis.</p>
<p>He had to die.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>Is he dead?</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>There’s pain.</p>
<p>He can feel hot, sticky blood run down his face.</p>
<p>What happened?</p>
<p>Fighting. The soldiers pushed him back, further into the town, separating him from the others. Are they safe? He’s lost them. Couldn’t hold his place. Separated. Alone.</p>
<p>And then—</p>
<p>He shouted at a group of men, told them that this was madness. He drew his sword and then—</p>
<p>He moves his fingers. Yes, there. His sword is still there.</p>
<p>What happened?</p>
<p>What’s wrong?</p>
<p>He isn’t breathing. Is he? He should do that. He takes a deep breath in and chokes on… something. Dust, filling his mouth, his lungs. He coughs. Coughs harder. Spits. So much dust.</p>
<p>His eyes are full of dust as well. They water when he opens them. What—</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>He’s on the ground surrounded by… Men? Bodies? The man he shouted at lies next to him, eyes turned heavenwards, his soul gone there already. May the Lord rest his soul.</p>
<p>Everything is silent.</p>
<p>Is everyone dead?</p>
<p>Porthos and Athos? Are they—</p>
<p>He turns his head, trying to find them. He has to…</p>
<p>No, not everyone. People are moving.</p>
<p>They make no sound.</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>Silent ghosts moving through the dust.</p>
<p>There’s fire. Flames flickering, shadows dancing.</p>
<p>Oh... That makes sense.</p>
<p>An explosion. Fire. People knocked to the ground; bodies ripped apart. It makes sense.</p>
<p>But why…</p>
<p>The silence…</p>
<p>Someone touches him, holds him tight. Aramis coughs again. That damned dust.</p>
<p>Athos and Porthos. Praised be the Lord. Covered in dust, but alive, standing, moving. They are here now. They have come for him.</p>
<p>Out of nowhere, Porthos pulls at his body. What? Why? Do they have to flee? Are they running? Why aren’t they talking? Do they have to be silent? But why? What has he missed?</p>
<p>He sees him over Athos’ shoulder. A man with a torch, fighting. Suddenly, it all makes sense. An explosion. The Huguenots with the torches. They are blowing themselves up, taking as many royal soldiers with them as they can. Going down, but not without a fight. Oh God, there’s another.</p>
<p>And now they are here with him. Porthos and Athos, at the centre of the explosion.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>He points to the man with the torch. Points silently. He still doesn’t know why they can’t talk. There must be a reason.</p>
<p>Athos wheels around, sword raised already, ready to fight.</p>
<p>Then Aramis sees Porthos shout. Sees the <em>Go</em> on his lips as Athos hesitates, then runs towards the man. He sees it, but he doesn’t hear. Doesn’t hear Athos’ retreating steps, doesn’t hear him scream to get the man’s attention.  </p>
<p>Oh no.</p>
<p>Oh God.</p>
<p>His hands fly to his ears. Still there. He hits his ears, hits them hard. It stings, but he can’t hear. Nothing.</p>
<p>Of course. The explosion.</p>
<p>Deaf as an old gunner.</p>
<p>He looks up at Porthos. His lips are moving, silent words tumbling out, words Aramis can’t understand.</p>
<p>Porthos shakes him by the shoulder.</p>
<p>“I—” Oh God, he can’t hear himself. Is he speaking? “I can’t hear,” Aramis says. Tries to say. Is he speaking? Can Porthos hear? Too soft? Too loud? Has he made any noise at all?</p>
<p>Porthos’ brows draw together. The worry on his face makes panic rise in Aramis’ chest. Porthos knows something’s wrong. He’s deaf. And mute as well for all he knows. He can’t make anyone understand, not even Porthos. Porthos… He is alone. In the middle of a battle, he is all alone, caught in this prison of silence. He won’t even hear the next explosion if Athos can’t reach the man in time.  </p>
<p>His stomach clenches.</p>
<p>He’s helpless.</p>
<p>He won’t hear anyone approach, no steps, no clash of steel. He’ll be shot and never know what killed him.</p>
<p>Oh God.</p>
<p>What is he going to do? A deaf musketeer? Not even Tréville can keep him on like that. He’ll be a threat to the regiment. He’ll have to go. He’ll lose everything. Porthos and Athos and— no need for a cripple. He’ll never have a conversation again. He’ll never hear another lover’s sigh, never hear another prayer…</p>
<p>Oh Lord have mercy.</p>
<p>He tries to clamp down on the panic. It isn’t helping. He needs to… Needs to… He looks around himself.</p>
<p>Mayhem.</p>
<p>Men fighting everywhere. Friend, foe, he can’t tell. Hundreds of them. Everywhere. Fighting. Dying.</p>
<p>Porthos throws them both to the side and Aramis can feel a bullet fly past. That’s his life now. Feeling, not hearing. Death with no warning. He has to get out.</p>
<p>Porthos is talking again. Some people can understand words from the shape of the lips, can’t they? Aramis can’t. But then Porthos is pointing and dragging him to his feet and he understands that. <em>Go.</em> Their mission has failed. Standing up gives him a better view of the situation. Men everywhere. Thousands of them. The whole royal army? Has everyone come here to avenge those killed in the explosion?</p>
<p>Fish in a barrel. An easy fight.</p>
<p>Another massacre.</p>
<p>There is no saving Privas now.</p>
<p>Failure. Again.</p>
<p>That much for doing good. How many dead tonight? Dead Frenchmen regardless of their religion. First siege in ‘29 and it ends like this. Everywhere they go there’s death.</p>
<p>Porthos grabs him by the shoulder and drags him away. Their world sways like a great ship, but Porthos keeps him close. They are both fighting. Not killing if they can help it, just making their way through. Fighting is hell now. It’s like a dream, one of those visions that used to haunt him after Savoy. He is caught in a nightmare and powerless. His eyes dart around, trying to take in everything, trying to understand, to not be caught off-guard in this strange silent world.</p>
<p>He can imagine what it sounds like. He’s been in too many similar situations. He can see. Men run this way and that. Men scream in pain while others shout encouragement and warnings alike. Blades clash and guns fire. He sees all that and he knows what it sounds like. He sees the battle, but it’s like a strange moving painting. He isn’t part of it, a visitor to this gallery.</p>
<p>A man crashes into Aramis, making him stumble. He’s off balance. Attacks come out of nowhere. That’s his life now. He fights someone. Even that is odd. He is slower than usual, having to look at everything. He never knew how important sound is to his fighting. When he hears the blades sing, he knows exactly where he has struck. There’s none of that now. He can’t hear his opponent either and somehow that matters as well. Is he breathing heavily or taking it in his stride? Aramis doesn’t know. He feels vulnerable and exposed, even with Porthos at his back. He has to focus all his remaining senses on the fight, can’t spare any energy on their surroundings.</p>
<p>The man won’t give up.</p>
<p>Why doesn’t he stop? It’s suicide anyways, he must know that. He must know his town is lost, his religion as well. They must all know that; must have known before they ever launched this attack. They know, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll take as many lives as they can while they are dying.</p>
<p>Aramis means this man no harm, means none of them any harm at all. They were trying to avoid this, to push back the royal soldiers. But he can’t do this right now. He can’t focus on one man when there are so many more blades and guns and suicidal Huguenots all around. He has to watch all of them, not just this one man.</p>
<p>Aramis kills him.</p>
<p>He stands up straight and looks around, trying to orientate himself. Where is the road they came in on? Where is the gate leading out of all this? It all happened so fast he struggles to regain his bearings now. He’s still dizzy.</p>
<p>Porthos shoves him to the side. When Aramis turns, he sees that Porthos is shouting. Has been shouting for a while? Silent words. Porthos turns them in a circle, their places reversed now. Suddenly, the glint of a blade. A snarling man. Too late by the time Aramis sees him.</p>
<p>The blade goes down and so does Porthos. Hard. His eyes wide, his mouth round with a surprised <em>Oh</em> Aramis can’t hear.</p>
<p>He runs through the attacker, drags his sword free of the man’s chest with some effort. No time to waste. Porthos lies on his front, face flat against the cobblestones. The back of his shirt is already soaked with blood.</p>
<p>Across the milling crowd, Aramis catches Athos’ eye. He’s fighting, but he has seen. His face is distorted with shock. He’s mouthing something Aramis can’t hear. Pushes forward, towards them. Help is coming.</p>
<p>Good, because Aramis can’t think about defending himself. He has only one duty now and it isn’t to the fight.</p>
<p>He drops to his knees. There’s so much blood. It pools next to Porthos on the stones, gleaming slick in the firelight. He turns Porthos’ face to the side. He’s conscious, thank God, his teeth gritted against the pain, eyes wide with panic. He knows. Aramis knows, too. He doesn’t need to see any more. It’s a bad one. There’s so much blood. They have to go. He’ll have to operate. There’s nothing left for them here, nothing to save except Porthos’ life.</p>
<p>Athos is coming. He’ll get them out of this.</p>
<p>A flash of bright light and Aramis is thrown back. He clutches Porthos’ hand, unwilling to be separated.</p>
<p>Another explosion.</p>
<p>All the more frightening for being silent.</p>
<p>He squashes down the fear.</p>
<p>The dust settles slowly. There are more flames now, the whole square lit up with them. Something is burning, something big. The smoke bites his throat. There are more bodies as well. He looks left to where Athos had been. Nobody’s there. Nobody standing. Just bodies.</p>
<p>Athos…</p>
<p>A flicker of movement in his hand. Porthos’ fingers close around his. Porthos is shaking. He’s breathing hard. His lips are moving. Speaking? Aramis can’t hear. And what if— No, don’t think that. Porthos pants. Scrunches up his face and pants. He’s trying to stay conscious. Trying so hard.</p>
<p>He has to.</p>
<p>There’s no help for them.</p>
<p>Athos isn’t coming.</p>
<p>They are alone. And Aramis won’t be able to carry him by himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>                                   </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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